violet
by poetbynight
Summary: ‘the cold sea air that flooded her lungs tasted like liberation.’ this is the story of violet potter.
1. (i) freedom

_1991_

In the tiny hut on the rock, a damp, unpleasant smell hung over everything and the wind howled cruelly outside. Dudley's snores from the battered old sofa beside them mingled with Uncle Vernon's from the only bedroom, creating an awful cacophony that made sleep impossible.

Violet met her brother's eyes from where he lay on the floor across from her.

 _Time?_ she mouthed silently.

He glanced at the digital watch on his wrist that had once belonged to Dudley (and hence had almost been smashed beyond repair), and then showed her. The cracked screen blinked with the numbers _00:01._

She grinned at Harry before propping herself up on one elbow and tracing the words ' _Happy Birthday!'_ in the thick layer of dust that covered the floor. He smiled slightly, and copying her movement, drew a birthday cake around the words with eleven candles.

Birthdays had never had quite the same meaning for the twins as it seemed to hold for other people. It simply wasn't acknowledged, other than the grudging mention of it by Aunt Petunia, followed by a noncommittal grunt by Uncle Vernon, and a card from their kindly but painfully boring old neighbour Mrs Figg. Violet wouldn't have been surprised if she was the only person in Privet Drive who knew her and Harry even existed, due to their aunt and uncle's terror of their strange niece and nephew being discovered by their so very _normal_ neighbours. Mrs Figg, she reflected, only knew because the Dursleys' needed to leave them with _someone_ when they went out to make sure they didn't run off with the silverware, or something equally precious to Aunt Petunia.

This year, though, Violet was certain her aunt and uncle were much too preoccupied with the mysterious letters to even remember, and there wouldn't even be the usual cat-themed birthday card from Mrs Figg due to Uncle Vernon's newfound hatred of the Postal Service.

( _How the hell have we lasted eleven years?)_

She held up three fingers, counted down, and then together, her and Harry blew gently on their illustrations. The dust scattered, leaving a clean spot on the floor where the pathetic cake had been.

Violet lay back down on her pillow, left with nothing to do now but wait or daybreak. Suddenly, a horrible hopelessness was rising in her throat, making it hard to draw breath. She felt the beginnings of hot tears pricking at her eyes.

 _(Please_ God. _Mum, Dad; anyone. I can't take much more of this)._

Seemingly in answer to her desperate, silent plea, the front door burst open with a deafening crash, and the cold sea air that flooded her lungs tasted like liberation.

 ** _thanks so much for reading. this story, if you haven't already guessed, is about my OC, violet potter. i know it's been done countless times before, but here's my (unoriginal) take. it also probably won't be a linear storyline - i've read so many of these that are basically just the books line by line with a few additions. i want violet to have her own story, so this'll just be short stories that'll jump around the timeline a bit. hope you enjoy, and please review!!_**


	2. (ii) juvenilia

Their aunt had screamed when she'd opened the door to collect the milk and the paper one morning and had found two, tightly swaddled babies lying on her doorstep. Then she had seen the letter from Dumbledore and the owls dotted around her house, put two and two together, glanced around to see if any neighbours had seen and snatched up the children. Her heart sank as she slammed the door shut and she realised just what the headmaster of her sister's old school would want them to do.

Vernon had taken a lot of persuading. "I WILL NOT HAVE THE _SPAWN_ OF YOUR WEIRDO SISTER AND HER HUSBAND CHILDREN IN THIS HOUSE WHERE THEY CAN POLLUTE OUR DUDLEY'S MIND!" he had bellowed when she'd tried to explain to him why they would have to stay.

She glared. "For goodness sakes, lower your voice, Vernon," she'd snapped. Nobody was allowed to insult Lily – except her. "I'll be the first to admit the father was more than a little strange. But you must see that they have nowhere else to go!"

After much rationalising and persuasion on her part, Vernon finally, begrudgingly agreed. "But they won't receive any special treatment! Our Dudley's better than them and I'll make sure they know it. They'll be raised on the bare minimum, and one word of disobedience out of their mouths and they're right off to an orphanage!"

Harry and Violet learned quickly that their aunt and uncle despised them. As children, they had been innocent and ready to love their substitute parents, but were constantly crushed, insulted and screamed at.

Harry remembered distinctly one day when they had both been playing outside when they were about five. Violet had tripped and cut open her knee on a sharp rock. It wasn't that deep, but to two young kids who had never seen blood before, the wound seemed to be fatal. Violet, ever trying to be brave, trembled violently with the effort of stopping the tears from rolling down her cheeks. She clutched her bleeding leg, and a crying Harry slung an arm around her shoulders and they stumbled towards their house.

Their aunt had glanced at the injury awkwardly and looked away. Their uncle hadn't even glanced up from the television at the sound of their tears. "Just-just go and find some antiseptic." she hissed angrily before shooing them out of the room. "Don't you dare get blood on my cream carpet!" Neither of them had known what antiseptic was, let alone how to find it. And so, Harry had set his resolve and marched across the street to the only neighbour they had ever been allowed to interact with, a Mrs Figg, supporting a now-sobbing Violet. Mrs Figg was an elderly lady who they were sent to stay with whenever the Dursleys went on trips away. Her house smelled of mothballs and she had a worrying number of cats, but she had shown kindness to the two Potter children, and that was something that they had never encountered anywhere else.

"My goodness!" she had exclaimed when she opened the door. "Whatever's the matter?" She scooped up Violet as Harry poured out the whole story to her. She pursed her lips together and looked livid at his recount as she lowered Violet into a faded floral armchair. "Am I going to die?" she asked in a weak voice. Mrs Figg laughed. "No! No, dear. It's only a little cut. I'll make it better in just a second." She dabbed a little of a liquid that made it sting, and then bandaged it up with gnarled but gentle fingers. "Now, you come back to me tomorrow if your aunt or uncle don't change your bandage!" she said sternly. They promised, and set off to a place they could never bring themselves to call home. Their aunt and uncle never even looked at the injury. Harry had wanted to go back, but Violet had been too proud to ask for help a second time.

After countless similar incidents, the twins hardened their hearts against their family, and became bitter and sarcastic. The only time either of them allowed themselves to cry was in the dead of night when one would crawl, shaking with silent tears into the other's bed. It was never spoken of again. They didn't know what they would have done without each other during those awful years. They didn't allow themselves to contemplate the loneliness, the absolute, crushing _loneliness_ of what it would have been like. After Hagrid had come with their Hogwarts letters that one fateful night, all the bellowing and hitting and nights without any dinner had seemed like a long, bad dream. When they were awake, they could breathe again, they could see the world clearly, they could laugh openly and let down the walls around their hearts - to a certain extent. But as with real nightmares, there was a lingering sense of uneasiness and sadness lingering at the edges of their minds, casting shadows over their bright world, ominous and threatening. They helped each other forget.

Most of the time.

* * *

 **Thank you so much to anyone who's taken the time to read these first couple of chapters! I am so grateful for any reviews. Love you all!**


	3. (iii) freedom

**Hey guys! So finally, a new chapter. This one's set in the hut on the rock just before Hagrid breaks down the door and changes the Potters' lives forever. Enjoy! x**

 _1991_

In the tiny hut on the rock, a damp, unpleasant smell hung over everything and the wind howled cruelly outside. Dudley's snores from the battered old sofa beside them mingled with Uncle Vernon's from the only bedroom, creating an awful cacophony that made sleep impossible.

Violet met her brother's eyes from where he lay on the floor across from her.

 _Time?_ she mouthed silently.

He glanced at the digital watch on his wrist that had once belonged to Dudley (and hence had almost been smashed beyond repair), and then showed her. The cracked screen blinked with the numbers _00:01._

She grinned at Harry before propping herself up on one elbow and tracing the words ' _Happy Birthday!'_ in the thick layer of dust that covered the floor. He smiled slightly, and copying her movement, drew a birthday cake around the words with eleven candles.

Birthdays had never had quite the same meaning for the twins as it seemed to hold for other people. It simply wasn't acknowledged, other than the grudging mention of it by Aunt Petunia, followed by a noncommittal grunt by Uncle Vernon, and a card from their kindly but painfully boring old neighbour Mrs Figg. Violet wouldn't have been surprised if she was the only person in Privet Drive who knew her and Harry even existed, due to their aunt and uncle's terror of their strange niece and nephew being discovered by their so very _normal_ neighbours. Mrs Figg, she reflected, only knew because the Dursleys' needed to leave them with _someone_ when they went out to make sure they didn't run off with the silverware, or something equally precious to Aunt Petunia.

This year, though, Violet was certain her aunt and uncle were much too preoccupied with the mysterious letters to even remember, and there wouldn't even be the usual cat-themed birthday card from Mrs Figg due to Uncle Vernon's newfound hatred of the Postal Service.

( _How the hell have we lasted eleven years?)_

She held up three fingers, counted down, and then together, her and Harry blew gently on their illustrations. The dust scattered, leaving a clean spot on the floor where the pathetic cake had been.

Violet lay back down on her pillow, left with nothing to do now but wait or daybreak. Suddenly, a horrible hopelessness was rising in her throat, making it hard to draw breath. She felt the beginnings of hot tears pricking at her eyes.

 _(Please_ God. _Mum, Dad; anyone. I can't take much more of this)._

Seemingly in answer to her desperate, silent plea, the front door burst open with a deafening crash, and the cold sea air that flooded her lungs tasted like liberation.

 **Please drop a review!**


	4. (iv) introductions

Violet Lily Potter was, at eleven, a thin, small girl with unruly raven hair and sweet eyes, though they were framed by thick, ugly glasses which made her look even younger than she was. Her and her twin brother had nervously boarded the Hogwarts Express for the first time, in stunned awe of this wonderful new world where people seemed not only to know who they were but also respected them. They had never been loved by anyone but each other, and to go from being constantly screamed at and ignored to being revered by everyone they met was overwhelming, to say the least. Harry had met a lanky, red-haired boy and she had left to go to the bathroom, though she really just wanted to take in the atmosphere of the train. Her fingers itched to scribble down the details of her surroundings in her notebook, but the people she had passed already stared at her enough without her looking even more idiotic. She zipped up her cardigan a little more to cover the long, strangely shaped scar that curved along her collarbone.

Violet stopped to discreetly (at least, she hoped it was discreet) peer into another compartment, where a group of older boys made their wands glow with light, and in her fascination, forgot to watch where she was going. She collided directly into someone who caught her by the elbow and steadied her. _Great_ , she thought drily. _What a wonderful first start in this new world_. She glanced up and found herself looking into a pair of very nice, dark blue eyes. She found herself thinking what lovely eyelashes he had. They were dark and thick, but not enough to make him look feminine. The boy drew back and she saw his whole face, the sun-streaked gold hair, the tanned skin. Then, her still-slightly-in-shock brain realised that he was glaring at her. She matched his scowl and placed her hands on her hips. Very suddenly, his anger seemed to evaporate and he stared at her in complete surprise.

Will Adam McKinnon had been raised in a completely wizarding family. His parents were both purebloods, though both Gryffindors as well, and his father worked as an auror while his mother was a healer. He had been waiting for this day ever since he had accidentally set the cat on fire, and they had known he was magical. He _knew_ he would be in Gryffindor, because everyone had always said so and it was the only house he felt he would belong. His best friends, Alex and Sam were waiting for him a few compartments down, but right now, he couldn't think of anything except for the eyes of the girl standing in front of him. They were exquisite, appearing simply green at a quick glance, but really, they shone with layers of browns and golds. They were wide, and bright, and… angry. He realised, too late that the glare from having collided into her was still on his face, and quickly went to smile at her before he realised who she was. She seemed so small, so ordinary, – even if she did have exceptionally pretty eyes – but Violet Potter was a legend and a hero. For surely it must be her, resembling so much the photos of her dead parents that were hidden away in yearbooks and photo albums that his mum and dad never looked at anymore. She looked a lot like her father, with her dark hair and glasses, but she had the delicate, freckled features of her mother. Her eyes, though, were entirely her own.

Too late, he realised he was staring, and that she looked livid, so he finally grinned. "Are you really who I think you are?" he said stupidly.

She looked, if it were even possible, even angrier. "Do you think I'm a mind-reader?"

"No, but-"

"Then how on earth do you expect me to have the slightest idea what you're talking about?" She did, in fact, have a very good idea about what he was talking about, but this fact didn't mean that she was going to let him know that.

"I'm sorry," he said politely. "Are you Violet Potter?"

She looked at him for a long moment. "Yes," she said shortly. "What does it matter to you?"

He realised how overwhelmed and confused she must be feeling, to have grown up with muggles her whole life and then suddenly thrown into a world of magic and wizards. So he grinned even wider, and tried to make himself sound as friendly as possible. "My name's Will McKinnon. Our parents were friends at school, did you know?"

Her eyes lit up. "Really?"

He nodded, and suddenly thought of how awful it must be to know absolutely nothing of one's parents. "My mum and dad have told me a lot about them. I'll have to write to them and let them know I've met you. You could… I mean, if you wanted to, you could write to them as well."

She looked as if she were about to burst from excitement. "I need to tell Harry!" she said happily. "You're the first person I've met yet who hasn't either been rude, or over-friendly or even worse, sympathetic."

He wondered why she thought sympathy was worse, but decided against asking and just smiled. Maybe someday, he would find out why.

She smiled back. "You already know who I am, so there's no point in introducing myself," she said laughingly.

"All the same, I don't think people can properly be friends without a formal introduction." She looked up, wondering if maybe this was some sort of strange wizarding tradition that she had to get used to, but caught the amused twinkle in his eyes.

"Alright then," she said, and held out a hand. Assuming an expression of mock grandeur, she said in a snooty voice, "Greetings, Mr McKinnon. My name is Violet, but you may refer to me as Miss Potter for the duration of our association."

Trying desperately not to laugh and failing miserably, he shook the proffered hand. He liked the feel of her small, pale hand in his larger, tan one. "A pleasure, Mademoiselle." He bowed over their joined hands and kissed hers, feeling a nervous thrill run through him as he did so. She curtseyed solemnly, and then they both burst out laughing. He swung an arm about her shoulders. "I can already tell we'll be great friends, Potter."

"Don't push your luck, McKinnon. There are a lot of people desperate to be my friend, and I'm not sure if you're the right one for the position," she said primly.

"Sure I am. I bet nobody's managed to make you laugh today except for me," he said teasingly, and she smiled even wider.

"I suppose not."

* * *

 **Thank you for sticking with the story! I'd just like to say that this isn't going to be one of those fanfictions where Harry's sister is a complete OC, for lack of a better term. I mean, that she just follows him around and does the exact same things as them, as if the words are just taken right from the book and her name is slipped in here and there. I want Violet to have her own story, and of course she would be involved in those epic, end-of-year adventures that J.K. Rowling wrote about so well, but I might not always go into them in such detail. The chapters might not be on a linear timeline either, so they may jump from year to year. I'd really like your opinion on that style of writing, because I'm not really sure how it's working. If you think it would be better as separate stories rather than one multi-chaptered fic, then please let me know! Your reviews are so appreciated. Love you all xxx**


	5. (v) the sorting

**Woop woop! Chapter 4 is up, and it's about the Sorting! Please read and review, as I really appreciate your feedback. Sorry about the wait; I've been on holiday in Scotland and didn't have a laptop available to post the new chapters. I've been writing like mad, though, and so I should be uploading pretty regularly from now on.**

Violet looked nervously up at the stool at the very front of the room. On it the gnarled leather hat that would determine their very futures burst into song. She couldn't concentrate on the lyrics; her stomach felt as if it were filled with thousands of little butterflies. She cursed her surname – 'P' was far too early in the alphabet for her liking. Why couldn't her name be Sullivan, or Zabel? Then she'd be called out later, and she'd have more time to mentally prepare herself for what was to come.

She must have looked as scared as she felt, because the girl standing next to her whispered sympathetically, "It's nerve-racking, isn't it?"

Violet studied her more closely. This was the girl she'd seen leaving Harry and Ron's compartment on the train! She had very bushy hair and looked rather proud and superior, but her brown eyes looked kind and a little afraid too.

"Yeah, that's the understatement of the year," she said, though the sarcasm injected into her tone didn't really work as her voice trembled halfway through.

The girl laughed quietly. "My name's Hermione. Hermione Granger."

"I'm Violet Potter," she said, and immediately regretted the introduction when Hermione's eyes went wide and admiring.

"I've met your brother already," she said excitedly. "I'm muggleborn, you see, so I never heard of you before now, but you're legends!"

"Legends for something we can't even remember," she said drily, but then she fully processed what Hermione had said. "Muggleborn?"

"Oh! I forgot, you were raised by muggles. It's so nice to have someone who understands what it's like to be new to all of this." She gestured to the singing hat and floating candles. "My parents are both non-magical."

"Really?" Violet asked, ecstatic to have another person to relate to.

"Yes! I got the Hogwarts letter a few months ago, and…" They chattered happily for several minutes, their fear completely forgotten, before they realised that Professor McGonagall had begun to call out the names on the long list of first years she held in her hands.

"Rachel Berryman!" she announced, and a pale girl with honey coloured hair was sorted into Gryffindor.

"This could be the most important moment of our entire lives," Violet murmured.

"Well, I mean, I've been thinking about it, and really, I wouldn't be unhappy with any of the houses. They all have their virtues, and surely the sorting hat will choose the right on for us. The one we'd fit best in," she said sensibly.

"What about Hufflepuff? Or Slytherin?" Violet said gloomily.

"I've been reading up on it," Hermione said, and from her tone, Violet could tell that she had read up on a lot of things. "And, I mean, you heard the hat's song. Every house has its weaknesses. But they all have good qualities, too. Hufflepuffs might not be fighters, but they're loyal and kind. Slytherin might have a bad name, but people in the house are ambitious and clever. Surely not _everyone_ from Slytherin is evil. We can't just say all of them are bad just because of a few dark wizards."

Violet looked at the girl with a newfound respect, and felt a rush of affection. "You're right. And neither of us have parents who would care which house we get sorted into."

Hermione looked a little uncomfortable at the mention of the Potters, but she smiled anyways. "Exactly. Still, rational thinking doesn't stop me from being bloody terrified."

Violet burst out laughing, but was silenced by a stern look from Professor McGonagall.

She cheered louder than anyone when Harry was sorted into Gryffindor, and smiled widely at him when he looked over at her, even though her insides were gripped with fear. What if she wasn't in the same house as her brother? What if they grew apart, separated by their new friends and classmates until they came to despise each other? She couldn't contemplate spending even a day without him.

 _You're getting ahead of yourself_ , she thought, trying to calm her nerves. _We can deal with this if it actually happens._

When she was called out, she walked up with trembling knees and a brave face, trying and failing to ignore the whispers that echoed throughout the Great Hall as she sat on the stool. Professor McGonagall placed the hat on her head, and it fell down over her face so that all she could see was the thick darkness of the inside and the acrid smell of old leather tickled her nostrils.

"Well, well, well," the hat drawled, making her jump. "I was wondering when I would meet both of the famous Potter children. Your brother was nothing like what I expected, and I have a feeling you won't be either."

"What did you expect?"

"Ooh. Most of them don't say a word back to me. Gets a little wearing sometimes. You're definitely brave." Violet noticed that it didn't answer her question. "But there's more than that to you," it went on. "So complicated. I see kindness, but then again, only to those who are kind to you."

She wondered vaguely what it had meant by that. Why on earth would she be kind to someone who wasn't nice back to her? The hat seemed to read her mind. "You're not unconditionally kind, Miss Potter. You don't always see the good in people. I think we can rule Hufflepuff out."

Despite what Hermione had said, she felt a wave of relief. "Would Hufflepuff really have been so bad?" the hat asked, its voice laced with humour. _It's laughing at me,_ she realised with disbelief and more than a little embarrassment. _A hat is laughing at me._

"I look terrible in yellow," she said, feigning nonchalance.

The hat chucked drily. "So, what's next? You're clever to be sure. Mmm, literary as well. But that's not what you value most in a person. You don't care if someone is intelligent, do you?"

Of course she didn't! If they had never read a book in their life, she would still befriend them if they were a good person.

"A good person," the hat said in a mocking tone that she didn't like. "So rare these days. And yet you still believe in them. Perhaps you even are one yourself. A Gryffindor quality, again."

She felt hopeful. Perhaps she would be sorted into the same house as Harry after all.

"You shouldn't want a house simply because your brother is there. I will choose the right house for _you_ , and not anybody else. Her heart sank. "Slytherin would be a good fit for you. You're clever and certainly want to go places, but… oh."

"What is it?" she demanded, her annoyance at the hat's dramatic manner growing with every passing second.

"You wouldn't put yourself above others. Slytherins must always find themselves before they help others. Still, it _would_ be a good fit. You could achieve great things, surrounded and encouraged by people like that."

She felt tempted for moment, but then considered that if being around prejudiced people like Draco Malfoy was what it took to make her "great", then she didn't want it.

"Not for you, then, eh? So like your father." She felt a jolt at the mention of James Potter, and was about to ask more, but the hat continued quickly. "Well then, you'll have to go down a completely different path. I can't predict what will happen, but let me tell you, Miss Potter, I like you, and I haven't liked many students before. I wish you luck, and offer you any aid I may in your adventures."

Before she could thank it, offer a witty reply, respond in any way, the hat was roaring "GRYFFINDOR!" to the awaiting crowds and she was climbing dazedly off the stool. She walked over to the Gryffindor table, which had exploded into cheers, screams and applause louder than it had been for any previous student.

"We've got the Potters!" a group of older students chanted.

The Hufflepuffs smiled placidly, but the Ravenclaws and Slytherins looked surly. Violet didn't like the expressions on their faces, or the chants of the Gryffindors, as if her and Harry were possessions to be collected and admired instead of real people. Real, nervous, normal people.

Professor Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling, Hagrid was cheering along with the rest of the Gryffindors and even Professor McGonagall looked strangely proud. Harry and Ron slid apart on the bench to make room for her between them, and she grinned at Will and Hermione, sitting across from her. She felt warm and incredibly happy. They were away from the Dursleys for a whole school year, at a magnificent castle to learn magic, and she was with Harry and some amazing people who she might just become friends with. For the first time in her life, she felt as if she really belonged somewhere.

 **Love you all! xxx**


	6. (vi) quidditch

**Hi guys! New chapter up already, I know. Here is an example of what I meant by a non-linear timeline; this chapter jumps to 2nd year. As I said, I want Violet to have her own stories, not just tag along on the ones J.K. Rowling wrote. Hope you enjoy!**

 _2nd Year_

"Quidditch tryouts tomorrow!" Harry said excitedly as they made their way into the Gryffindor common room.

Violet groaned. "Oh, Merlin. This means you're going to be prattling on about it all day, doesn't it?"

"You know, you should try out with me," Will said suddenly. "We've all seen you play at the Weasleys'. You're really good!"

Violet looked at him incredulously. "Are you joking? I couldn't hit a thing! I was convinced Fred and George had enchanted the bat. My pride still hurts from when I found out there was nothing wrong with it."

"That was when you were playing as beater, though," Ron pointed out. "You were a pretty decent chaser."

Fred and George, who had just walked into the room, joined in the conversation. "Pretty decent?" Fred exclaimed. "She's a bloody brilliant chaser!" "We've been at her for ages to try out," George said.

Violet shot them both a glare, and said in a sarcastic voice, "Oh, yippee. My favourite game. Soon, the board game of _Let's-Make-Violet-As-Uncomfortable-As-We-Possibly-Can-By-Suggesting-Things-That-Will-Make-Her-Look-Like-An-Idiot-In-Front-Of-The-Whole-School_ will be played at dinner parties around the UK."

Hermione laughed from behind an enormous book at least three times the size of her head. "The name's a little long, don't you think? Might be off-putting to customers."

"You have to try out, Vi," Harry begged. "If Wood doesn't get anyone good on the team, he'll be in a bad mood for months."

"And you know what that means," George said gloomily.

"100 laps around the pitch!" Fred mimicked Oliver Wood's thick Scottish accent and surly tone.

"I don't know, guys," Violet said. "What if I'm completely awful?"

"That's ridiculous! You've obviously inherited your dad's natural Chaser talent," Will said, smiling encouragingly, but stopped when Violet's mouth dropped open.

"Dad was a chaser?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Didn't you know?"

"I knew he played Quidditch, but…"

"C'mon, Vi. Think how proud Dad would've been of you if you got on the team."

"I-I don't…"

"And," Fred said in a gossipy tone. "Angela Miller is trying out too." That did it. Angela Miller was tall, platinum blonde, and spoke in a pathetically breathy voice, and she was Violet's arch-nemesis. In Gryffindor, at least. The girl seemed to collect enemies like a stamp-collector did stamps.

Violet sat up straight. "That bint. She probably thinks people will actually like her if she gets on the team. Or she read about it in a How-To-Be-Cool manual. Alright, if it means beating her sorry arse, I'll try out."

Laughing, Fred and George scooped her up in one swift motion of the table and twirled her around in the air. "Atta girl!" George praised as she giggled and yelled to be put down.

"Mr Weasley, Mr Weasley." A stern voice addressed the twins from behind them. "I think she wants to be let go of." They whirled around to see Professor McGonagall standing there, looking disapprovingly on at the chaotic scene before her.

"Sorry, Professor," the twins chanted in unison, and set a blushing Violet lightly down on her feet.

"Miss Potter," the professor said. "I know that the Gryffindor Quidditch trials are tomorrow, and I was wondering if you were thinking of trying out for the team."

Before Violet could answer, Harry and Will burst in with an affirmative, "Yes, of course she is!"

Professor McGonagall looked pleased. "Good. I'm sure your father would have been very proud to have both of you on the team. He was one of the best chasers this school has ever had, and goodness knows we need some more natural talent to win the cup again this year."

And with that, she walked off, her sensible heels clicking loudly on the stone floors of the castle.

Violet sat back down on a large sofa with a dejected 'thump'. "Great, thanks you guys. Now I'll have McGonagall expecting my miraculous Quidditch talents tomorrow."

"Aw, c'mon Vi!" Will said. "Just think of the look on Miller's face when she realises that you got a spot on the team and she didn't. Do it for that shocked, angry expression that you know will make your life ten times better."

She laughed along with the rest of the people in the common room. Ange Miller was somewhat infamous throughout the school for her shallow, gossiping popularity. She was admired by everyone one week and whispered about for some scandalous act the next. She loved any attention at all.

"Alright then. I guess it's worth a shot. Go over the moves again with me, Harry."

Violet hopped off her broom and was immediately enveloped in Will's arms. "You did it!" he almost screamed above the cheers and chants of the Quidditch pitch.

" _We_ did it," she smiled, and he hugged her again. He was struck, as they drew apart, by how pretty she looked. Red suited her – "That's the real reason the hat sorted me into Gryffindor!" she would always joke. The scarlet of the Quidditch gear made everything about her seem bolder, brighter; her eyes shone with gold and green and exhilaration in the afternoon sunlight, and her hair was escaping in dark, glossy tendrils from her plaits. He shook his head to clear it. This was Vi, his best friend, like his sister. The excitement of the tryouts must be making him confused.

Wood had informed both of them they'd gotten places on the team before they had even finished. Violet had scored one more goal than Will, and both of them had gotten ridiculously more than anyone else who had tried out. Angela Miller had stalked off at the end of practice, saying loudly how "that Potter girl" must have cheated, because _she_ had been playing Quidditch for years, and she had only just started.

Oliver was ecstatic to have two new chasers on his team, and had raved about them to anyone who would listen. "Just fabulous, both of them," he'd said to Professor McGonagall when she asked how they'd gotten on. "Best tryouts I've ever seen in my entire life. It wasn't just the amount of goals they scored either – though they could give even England's Imelda Cotton a run for her money – they both have real skill, too. Potter is so light and agile on the broom; she can manoeuvre it any way in a split second." He clicked his fingers to illustrate how fast she could move. "And she's off! Like lightning. She has a good arm, too. Not quite as strong as I'd like it, but very accurate. We can start her on a training plan to build up muscle mass around the biceps and triceps…"

"Yes, yes," Professor McGonagall interrupted impatiently. "Violet Potter is brilliant; we all knew that she would be with a father like James. What about the McKinnon boy? His parents both played in their time as well."

"Yeah, my dad said Adam McKinnon was like a machine; hitting bludgers left, right and centre, so fast that his arm was a blur. Anyways, Will was bloody brilliant – sorry for the language, Professor, but there's really no other way to describe it. Now _that's_ what I call a throwing arm, proper strong and almost always bang on target. He's fast, too… though not as fast as Violet. I suppose that's to be expected; she really is a tiny slip of a thing…"

"That's all well and good, Oliver, but it's beside the point. Do you think we have a chance at winning the cup this year?"

"Oh, I'd say we have it in the bag, Professor! What with our star seeker from last year and then our new additions, I'm sure none of the other house teams stand a chance. And I think they know it too." He smirked, pointing out a group of Ravenclaws and Slytherins gathered at the edge of the pitch, looking quite anxious as the new and existing members of the team showed off on their new broomsticks, laughing and messing around.

McGonagall flashed him one of her rare smiles. "Well done, Wood. You're a good man, and an even better captain. I'm sure you'll lead the team to victory yet again."

"Thanks, Professor," Wood said, surprised but touched by her kind, albeit slightly awkward praise.

 **I hope you liked it. Your reviews are so much appreciated; thank you to anyone who's reviewed or favourited my story so far. You have no idea what your positive responses mean! Love you all xx**


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